


Black Mane, White Tail

by Biscuit Lion (cookiethelion)



Series: Valet Service [12]
Category: British Comedy RPF
Genre: Chinese New Year, Chinese Zodiac, Crack, Dragons, Gen, Horses, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethelion/pseuds/Biscuit%20Lion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mops are important.<br/>----<br/>Happy Chinese New Year!! Here's to the Year of the Horse :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Mane, White Tail

**Author's Note:**

> 11\. [A Horse Walks Into A Bar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/915885/chapters/1776522)  
> 12\. [Story of the Jade](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1101588)  
> 13\. **Black Mane, White Tail**  
>  \----
> 
> Hello! Over the past week or so, I've noticed that there's been an unusually big spike in hits for this installment, which is baffling me a little, considering that Story of the Jade has pretty much stayed stable. I mean, this has even overlapped Fire/Normal AND caught up in hits with World Is Mine, which just makes it more confusing - what the hell has happened?!? Why is this attracting more attention than usual?
> 
> I am aware that if you type the title into Google, without any quotation marks, this comes up as the third hit. My apologies if anyone has ever come across this page expecting to see an ad for somebody wishing to sell their horse. If you are here for the fic, you are always more than welcome to leave a comment at the end :)
> 
> ~Cookie

“So this is what it does … this is incredible. How did you…?” Milton looked up from the flat snowglobe in his hands – which was projecting an image of his bedroom – and at The Boy. The latter shrugged and shook his head. “Keeping the secret to yourself, are you?”

It was one of those things The Boy couldn’t explain with the tape on, so he just nodded in response. His attention was drawn overhead, to a quivering branch. There were probably a few blackbirds hanging around; it would explain the chirping. He glanced back at Milton, and prised the snowglobe out of his grasp.

“Anyway,” said Milton. “I need your help.”

The Boy nodded, and twirled his hand as a way of encouragement.

“I’m concerned about the Zodiac Valets. We’ve beaten six, and seen seven so far. The problem is, there’s Valet Leo and Valet Aquarius left, and … well … you know I’m weak to Valet Leo, and Tuck won’t be able to fend off Valet Aquarius.”

Again, The Boy nodded.

“I’m also worried about my master. You know what happened with Valet Scorpio. What if another Western Valet decides to use the flat as a battleground again?” Even though Milton hadn’t finished speaking, The Boy flipped his bag open and started to find the staple guns. “I need something to stop the Western Valets, just in case. I was–”

The Boy managed to grab the gun, and with a tug, he pulled it out, but also sent a smaller roll of red tape flying out and rolling on the ground.

“How did you know what I wanted?”

The Boy just shrugged as he put the gun away, and then trotted over to retrieve the tape, which had rolled past a few trees, and, it seemed, under a bush. Milton followed him, and continued on.

“Anyway, I thought about your staple guns, and I wondered if it was possible for you to enhance a mop.”

The Boy had stooped down at this point to try and grab his tape, but the moment he heard Milton mention the mop, he paused, got up, and with a slight tilt of his head, stared at his leader.

“That’s right,” said Milton, after a short silence. “I need something that’s not going to catch a Western Valet’s attention, or my master’s. He never touches the mop, so we’re safe.”

Now that he understood, The Boy kneeled down again, and stuck his arm under the bush. All he could grapple were the roots, and a few lower growing leaves and branches. He peered through the cracks, and could definitely see his tape propped against the bark.

“I was thinking back to the time you took Tuck’s belt. You made all those shadows around us, but you knew where you were going. I take it you can see through them?”

Without looking up, The Boy nodded. He pulled his arm back, and started rummaging through his bag again.

“Do you think it’s possible to do something similar, but with a mop? I mean something like using the mop to create this shadow, but whoever’s touching it won’t be affected.”

Pretending to ignore him, the Horse Valet pulled out one of his plunger nunchucks, and, once his arm was elbow-deep under the bush, swung it. The tip of the other plunger missed on the first go, but smacked the side of the tape on the second. The hit only resulted in the tape tipping over. With a small sigh that Milton didn’t seem to hear, The Boy sat up, and, glaring at his leader, pointed under the bush.

“What do you want _me_ to do?”

Mimicking Milton, he clicked his fingers, until the two of them clicked in unison. The breeze parted the front of the bush, giving The Boy the chance to hook his tape out with the plungers. He still ignored Milton as he brushed and stowed his props away, and only looked up when he closed his bag.

“Got everything? Can you make enhance the mop for me or not?” More nodding. “I’d normally ask you to wait here, but I don’t think I can fly with the mop without alerting someone. Can I meet you tomorrow?”

The Boy thought for a moment, and then nodded.

“Great. Wait for me outside my window, but for safety’s sake, ask your master to transform you into a horse first. I can’t risk letting my master see you like this. You can do that shadow leaping thing as a horse, can’t you?”

This time, The Boy just shrugged his shoulders. Milton was raising a good point; could he use his abilities in that form? He would have to get Lili to do a test practice with him first.

“You’re not sure, are you?” Milton frowned. “When you get home, try it out first. Send me a message through the Item as soon as you can. If it doesn’t work, there’s other ways.”

It turned out his abilities only went as far as his teleportation when he was in horse form, and it was soon agreed that they would have to go back to the forest to enhance the mop. The next day at eleven, The Boy was waiting underneath Milton’s open window, now in his full horse form, his bag hanging around his neck. He would have hid himself, but as far as he could tell, nobody on the ground floor was anywhere near the windows, and he trotted forwards just enough so he could see a reflection of his head. He had never seen himself in his horse form; according to the people who had, he kept his piebald features, complete with an all-black mane and all-white tail (though he knew about the tail anyway from his half-horse form). The moment he spotted his mane, he drew back again, in between the windows. Overhead, due to the window being open, he caught snippets of Milton’s conversation.

“Do you _have_ to take the mop?” said someone The Boy didn’t recognise, though he suspected that was Milton’s master.

“I’m the only person who uses it,” said Milton.

At that moment, Libra’s words came back to The Boy; he shook his head, but somehow he couldn’t get them out. He looked up at the window, and then trotted a full circle round. As far as he could tell, there was nobody nearby. He snorted, and the sound came out much louder than he anticipated; within seconds, both Milton and his might-be-master stuck their heads out of the window.

“Why is there a horse outside my flat?”

“That’s the Horse Valet leader,” said Milton. “You know we’re supposed to meet on Chinese New Year.”

“You’re meeting him … with the mop?”

Milton drew his head back. “I need to go. Keep my room door shut, but the window open. I’ll be back soon.”

His might-be-master also drew back. “Fine. You’re not going to be gone _too_ long, are you?”

“No. First, I need to use my Item – hang on–”

The Boy waited for five more minutes before he heard a door slam shut, and Milton glided out of the window, and onto his back, now carrying a wooden handled mop with a metal mounting piece.

“I told you to keep quiet,” he said. Rather than answer, The Boy galloped ahead, and almost threw Milton off his back. He felt his leader tug on his bag as a makeshift reins, and only then did he use his shadow abilities; a small leap later, they were back in the forest. When Milton didn’t let go, The Boy snorted and stomped his hind legs on the grass.

“Sorry.” Milton disembarked, leaving The Boy free to turn back into his half-horse form. He dusted and straightened his waistcoat, and pulled his bag up from his waist to his shoulder. “What happened? I had to warn the horse leader not to come over yet.”

Still ignoring him, The Boy held his hand out, palms glowing, and Milton gave him the mop. He twirled it round in a circle, taking in the general shape and weight of the object, but it really was nothing more than an ordinary mop. He breathed in, and the mop began to glow purple. He would have kept his eyes open, but it seemed that wherever he turned, he always saw, out of the corner of his eye, the hem of Milton’s coat, or flashes of his crazily patterned shirt.

Now that he was distraction-free, he thought back to Milton’s brief. His hand started to feel lighter, and he spun the mop upside down, so the cleaning end was up in the air and flopping over the handle. He brought it down onto the ground thrice, each time flicking up a little soil with it. On the third strike, his hand had gone numb.

He let the mop fall, and remained still until he heard it hit the ground. He opened his eyes again. Milton ran forward to check if he was OK; The Boy nodded anyway, even though he felt ready to kneel over. Now that he thought about it, he was certain the last thing he’d enhanced was the flat snowglobes, and that was over six weeks ago. He probably hadn’t fully recovered from such a huge power drain yet; if Milton had demanded for anything lesser, he was certain he would be feeling better.

Nonetheless, he held his arm out, and Milton picked up the mop for him, but didn’t let go. The Boy just stared, not daring to move his legs just yet in case he really was going to collapse from the lack of balance. Milton mouthed an “oh” at him, and let his hand fall to his side.

The Boy turned the mop upside down, and struck the ground three times once again. Nothing seemed to happen, but Milton jumped, and for a second, his shoulders tensed, and he turned his palms upwards.

“That’s amazing,” he said, now relaxed. “Where are you?”

Milton held his arm out, and The Boy, still not willing to walk yet, tapped his leader with the cleaning end. Milton grabbed a tuft of the material, and he looked straight at The Boy.

“Wow,” he continued. “That’s … that’s … yeah … how do I stop it?”

The Boy flicked his hand at his leader, and the latter let go of the mop again. He struck the ground three more times, and judging by the fact Milton could reach out to him again, he figured that the shadows had dispersed.

“So it’s three hits to activate,” said Milton as he was handed the mop. “And three hits to stop it again. Got it. Why three times?”

The Boy shrugged.

“Safety mechanism?”

The Boy shrugged again. They stood facing each other for a while; Milton seemed to be on the verge of asking another question; and The Boy just retained his silence as per usual. He eventually took small steps towards his leader and, pleased that he was still standing upright, jabbed at his back.

“I know we can’t stay here all day, but are you sure you want to come back with me now? Someone might see you.”

With his other hand, The Boy gave Milton a thumb up.

“OK.”

Milton got on, and this time wrapped one arm around The Boy’s shoulders. With a slight jolt, they galloped into darkness, and re-emerged outside of Milton’s place, and in between the ground floor windows.

“Thanks.”

The Boy felt his back lighten, and looked up to see Milton hovering over him, with the ends of the mop dangling close to his forehead. The window was still open. The Boy pointed at his bag, and, miming he had the snowglobe, shook his hand.

“I made sure he shut my door before meeting you. I’m certain it’s still shut.”

Shrugging, The Boy placed his hand by his side again, and was ready to do his run up when Milton called for him. He looked up, and saw his leader smiling.

“Thanks for … this,” said Milton, with a slight wave of the mop. “Happy new year.”

The Boy replied with a nod. He stayed still as he watched Milton fly back into the flat, and, when his leader had shut the windows, started his run up.


End file.
